


Changes Everything Deleted Scene: December 15-23, 1996, Hogwarts

by plokool



Series: Changes Everything Universe [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Agender Character, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Depression, Female Character of Color, Implied/Referenced Suicide, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Pansexual Character, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, female-agender relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6562360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plokool/pseuds/plokool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville's perspective while Maggie was unconscious</p>
<p> </p>
<p>You're gone, gone, gone away,<br/>I watched you disappear<br/>All that's left is a ghost of you<br/>Now we're torn, torn, torn apart,<br/>there's nothing we can do,<br/>Just let me go, we'll meet again soon</p>
<p>Now wait, wait, wait for me, please hang around<br/>I'll see you when I fall asleep</p>
<p>Hey!<br/>Don't listen to a word I say<br/>Hey!<br/>The screams all sound the same<br/>Hey!</p>
<p>Though the truth may vary<br/>this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore<br/>-Of Monsters and Men, “Little Talks”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes Everything Deleted Scene: December 15-23, 1996, Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> Tw for: suicidal thoughts, imagined successful suicide, and persistent depression throughout

            I felt like I had been hit by a truck. Not some ordinary truck that Americans buy when they do construction work or want to feel tough. No, this felt like an eighteen-wheel lorry full of cargo. In reality, the club was closer in size to the former, but my body could not believe that.

            I realized that, though awake, my eyes were still shut. How long had I been out? Hours? Days? Weeks? I wouldn’t be surprised if I had, I fully expected to die as that club flew towards me. And my last thought was…Maggie! She must have been worried sick! Or what if she _did_ die? Oh God no, no no no please no. She had to have lived, she had to be sitting right by my bed. I just had to open my eyes.

            But what if I didn’t see her? What if she was gone? I couldn’t bear it. My eyes were already glued shut from the pain and fear of the light, but now I had a new fear. Opening my eyes would tell me whether I would survive or not. I tried to carry on in ignorance, keep my eyes shut and avoid the issue as long as possible, but I was torn apart by fear. I had to know, agonizing though it may be.

            My eyelids creaked open. Instead of a big dark blur, I saw a big light blur. I had to have been in the hospital wing. I was lying down on what felt like a bed, soft but not quite comfortable, and as my vision began to clear I could make out the features of the room. I had practically memorized them after so much time spent here. I turned my head to the right, inducing new physical agony. However long I was out, my neck clearly got quite used to its position and did not take kindly to turning. I remembered a time my gran wanted me to make something out of wood, a good activity for a boy, she said. I painted it all over, but I noticed a mistake and had to take one of the screws out. The resistance and eventual cracking of the paint to the turn of the screw described my neck.

            In the bed to my right laid Hermione. She looked so hurt and fragile, but it was clearly her. Her mound of hair was spread all around her head and she appeared unconscious. I hoped she would wake soon, but I breathed a sigh of relief. This was, after all, the infirmary, not the morgue. Pomfrey would never leave a corpse lying around. Hermione was safe. Past her, in the next bed over, I could see Harry. He too was unconscious, but looked quite different from Hermione. He was propped up some in bed, snored loudly, and had a book on Quidditch spread across his chest. Harry was merely asleep, and possibly doing better than me or Hermione.

            I knew what I had to do next. With great laborious effort I managed to turn around, my body screaming at every movement. I had to know. No matter what I had to know. If Maggie was at my bedside I would have heard it, felt it as kissed me and celebrated my recovery. So she was either in the next bed or…I couldn’t bear to think of it. My eyes closed again, part reflexively as they passed the lamp and part out of fear. When I opened them again I saw a sight that warmed my heart and broke it all at once. There Maggie was, bruised and battered, but there in the bed. Her chest rose and fell, albeit faintly. She was alive.

            A lone tear fell from my eye. I had to know everything. I had to know what had happened. I tried to call for Madam Pomfrey but my throat was dry and hoarse. I could only make a sick croaking noise.

            “P-Pomfrey!” I finally managed to call out, after what seemed like ages of trying. Somehow she heard me and dashed over, fussing over me and checking my vitals. She didn’t seem too terribly worried about me now that I was awake, but she looked over at Maggie and Hermione with concern.

            “What…happened,” I said, my voice gradually gaining strength.

            “You just rest,” Pomfrey said shortly, “all you need to know is that your friends are alive and I expect they will recover soon.”

            “Please,” I begged, my eyes more able to form tears after Pomfrey gave me a glass of water, “I have to know.”

            “If you insist, Longbottom,” Pomfrey sighed. “No doubt you wish to hear about Ms. Johnson first. All Minerva had to say when she dragged her in here was that she had been stepped on by a dinosaur. What kind of dinosaur, I don’t have the foggiest, only that it was big and dangerous enough that Minerva had to leave here far too early and wrangle the creature for the safety of the school. It did a lot of damage coming down, I won’t deny, and she hit an unfortunate rock it seems, but she appears stable.”

            Damn, damn stupid Neville. I saw the dinosaurs. Definitely two Tyrannosaurus. I should have known Maggie needed help handling them and ran over to join her. I’d poisoned the giant enough already. If McGonagall hadn’t found her in time…oh God, and all while I was there being useless fighting the giant and being unconscious. Stupid useless Neville. She could have died and still might.

            “Ms. Granger, meanwhile,” Pomfrey continued, either out of indifference to or ignorance of my guilt spiral or an attempt to distract from it, “struck the castle at high speed while a raven. The impact did a number on her bones, but they seem to be healing quite nicely. I hope the two of them will wake up shortly now that you have, but each of your injuries were different so there is no absolute way to know.

            “Mr. Potter, as you may have noticed, is sleeping but he was never knocked unconscious. He had the brilliant idea to try to breathe using elementalism. It worked to a degree, but if that were a viable option we would have no doubt cured so many diseases with that knowledge alone. Instead, he ended up reopening his wounds and keeps coughing up more blood, so he’s in here as well.”

            “Thank you,” I said, attempting a nod that came out more like a twitch. “When…will they wake up?”

            “As I said,” replied Pomfrey, “I can’t know for certain. Both of their injuries were severe, as were yours. With you awake, it’s more likely they should follow soon, but it isn’t exact. Try not to worry too much about them, Longbottom. They’re receiving excellent care, if I do say so myself, and I see no reason why they shouldn’t pull through. I know you just woke up, but I do insist you get some more rest. A normal night’s sleep will help you heal.”

            I wanted to protest but my body just ached. Sleep sounded incredibly appealing. I turned my head again towards Maggie and settled in, but my mind was racing. Surely Pomfrey wasn’t lying to me, but what if she was wrong? What if Maggie never woke up? The last thing we’d done was shouted at each other. Dramatically before a battle, but still. I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t handle losing her. I would have to find some way to join her, but I was far too weak to do much of anything. The tears came once more as I stared at her broken body. Occasionally her breathing would fall out of rhythm and I was on that rooftop again watching her cling to life in the throes of her addiction.

            My pillow was a puddle of tears. I had to stop this and just sleep. I was in the next bed over at least, Maggie could see me and know I was okay. Maggie would be fine, she just had to be. And Hermione was still unconscious. As long as she still was, Maggie just had to be okay. There was no way for Pomfrey to be wrong about both of them. I knew what thinking that way meant, since Maggie waking first would put Harry in my shoes and Hermione in the most worrisome position, but I couldn’t help it. I felt like such garbage but my selfish thought remained. Wake up soon Maggie, I thought as my mind grew more tired, please wake up soon. Ironic thoughts as I drifted off into a deep, deep sleep. But I wanted so badly to keep watch, to see her wake up, to be there to…

           

            I woke to the sound of screaming, shrill, raspy, and almost quiet, but screaming nonetheless. My eyes jolted open. Maggie was still unconscious. She appeared to be breathing but it was hard to see in the dark. She hadn’t screamed, then. Once I saw Maggie’s chest move enough, I turned as quick as I could, which was still slow and laborious. I saw Hermione, now wide awake and gripping the edges of the bed as she screamed her lungs out. In the dark I could almost make out the image of Harry, stirring from sleep and attempting, with limited success, to climb out of bed and go to her.

            “Mr. Potter you stay right where you are!,” Madam Pomfrey shouted as she swept into the room. She reached Hermione’s bedside and grabbed her hands. “Ms. Granger, Ms. Granger! It’s alright, you’re safe, you’re safe. You’re in the hospital wing, Harry is in the next bed over. Your friends are safe.”

            “The….the giant,” Hermione muttered, “and the wall. I was flying and then….I…it felt like it was still happening just now. Was I…was I asleep?”

            “You were unconscious, oh Mr. Potter for the love of Merlin!” she exclaimed as Harry managed finally to free himself from his own bed and join Hermione in hers, gingerly holding her so she nestled against his chest and stroking her hair protectively.

            “You can’t make me move,” Harry said defiantly. I planned to do the same when Maggie awoke.

            “As I was saying,” Pomfrey continued with an exasperated sigh, “I’m very sorry you were frightened Ms. Granger. It seems your brain may have started out when you woke up at the last memory before going unconscious.”

            Hermione nodded weakly, clearly still shaken but able to understand better. She nestled closer to Harry, only pulling away some to let Pomfrey check her vitals. When she finished, Pomfrey left and ordered the three of us to go back to sleep. Hermione and Harry did with relative ease, only staying awake a little while to talk. I tried my best not to listen. I was too focused on Maggie anyway. She was now officially the last one to wake, if she ever woke at all. I felt my nightmares coming true around me. Maggie would last a few days, then slowly fade away. Hopefully by then I would have enough strength left to leap off a tower or…or run myself through with the sword of Gryffindor. That would be appropriate since I was playing around with that stupid thing instead of helping Maggie. Fortunately the sword can only take on traits that strengthen it, so I couldn’t ruin it with my shame and failure.

            At some point in all of this I must have cried myself to sleep once more, my body too tired and too hurt to resist sleep any longer, though my brain spun on. My dreams were haunted by Maggie’s death, so many different times through the years when she could have not survived. The filthy broken girl fading away on the rooftop was suddenly tortured before my eyes by Umbridge, then bled out in the forest. Blue must have been too slow in getting us that time. Then one by one the giants and death eaters all had their shot, killing her over and over with killing curses, purple spells, and devastating club hits. I had this dream every night while Maggie was unconscious, each time with new scenarios added. The lesser perils of our early years took on a deadlier edge and claimed Maggie’s life every time, while the horrors of the war and rebellion crept into the future. It got to the point where even Maggie’s unlikely survival now would be small comfort, as someone or something else would surely kill her soon anyway.

            The next day, I woke to see Pomfrey hovering over Maggie. She seemed to be performing tests and working some magic, but to me she looked ready to call time of death. I could do nothing but cry in my bed, not even able to mutter a question.

            “She still seems about the same,” Pomfrey said, noticing my distress, “I just don’t know why she hasn’t woken up yet. She isn’t in a coma, but outside of those I have to admit someone being unconscious this long is unusual. I have confidence that she’ll pull through, though.”

            I sobbed loudly, my face no doubt hideous with grief. Maggie was going to die. Pomfrey didn’t want to tell me but it was so obvious. For reasons none of us could explain, we were losing her. Something about her injuries must have been just too much to handle and she was dying slowly in her bed. I only hoped her mind was at peace.

            I spent most of the day in tears. Pomfrey brought me water to stay hydrated and I managed to get it down okay. Food was more of an issue. Between bouts of intense crying, I found myself wrapped up in an intense worry. In my own sick way, that worry for Maggie was my last shred of hope. I spent the rest of my time mourning her. But the worry held my entire body in its grip, particularly my functions. My leg got the worst of my own injuries, but with crutches I could hobble to the bathroom, which was a frequent occurrence. It appeared any liquid that I didn’t cry out was swiftly peed out as my fear made me keep having to go. The back end didn’t fare much better; I was literally scared shitless. And on top of all this I was perpetually nauseous. Vomiting itself was infrequent, but it was the typical result whenever I tried to eat.

            By the end of the day, I was even more of a wreck than when I woke up. Maggie remained where she was, her every moment of unconsciousness driving me madder, while Harry and Hermione continued to recover. I couldn’t talk with them too much, as we all spent most of the day in bed, but there wasn’t much to say. We were all afraid.

            That night, as stated, the dreams grew worse. This time, on top of the scenarios I saw before, I got repeated visions of the battle in the Ministry. Each time, some critical moment goes differently and Maggie is killed. Her parents die in each as well, enraged and careless after the death of their child. The ones with Bellatrix were the worst. She would laugh and cackle and kick Maggie’s corpse, then stare right back at whatever perspective I was viewing from and laugh even more. I woke up in a cold sweat. I found myself facing the wrong way. I must have rolled over in my sleep somehow. Panicked, I forced myself over, only to find Maggie just as she had been, no better and no worse.

            When I finally woke up completely in the morning it was as though I hadn’t slept at all. Hermione seemed concerned, pointing out my red eyes and gaunt appearance. They were steadily recovering, not perfect by any means but growing more functional, while I seemed to be slowly joining Maggie in death. Wasting away wasn’t the symbolic death I had in mind for when Maggie finally passed, but it would have to do I supposed. To my general annoyance, Pomfrey did manage to force me to eat more and begin moving to places other than the bathroom. The three of us worked on healing together. At moments it distracted me from my fear and pain, but never for very long at all. The person I loved most was dying, practically dead, and there was nothing at all I could do. I was helpless and sad and angry and I wanted it all to end.

            In an effort to get me to move more, and ease the burden on McGonagall, Pomfrey asked me, once I was able, to go take care of the raptors. The thought of leaving Maggie’s side for anything longer than a bathroom trip made my stomach lurch. She could die at any moment and I would be away. If Maggie was going to die, the least I could do was be there in the room when it happened. Still, Pomfrey insisted and I walked, with some difficulty, back to our room. At least McGonagall would be getting one of her extra rooms back soon, I thought morbidly as I stepped through the door.

            The flock rushed up to me, Blue leading the charge, and immediately surrounded me and cuddled against my legs. I winced in pain as Ave brushed against one of my wounds, but the flock learned fast which areas to avoid. I sat down on the bed to catch my breath. Deena hopped up with me and curled up in my lap. I tried my best to pet her, though stiff arms and a sad heart made the task difficult. She seemed to understand and just nestled in closer, simply enjoying my company. I’d always been Deena’s favorite, but soon the rest joined us on the edge of the bed, all except Blue. She just stared at the doorway and made the most wretched noises I had ever heard out of her. She wanted Maggie back.

            “Blue, come here,” I said quietly. She finally relented and joined us on the bed, nuzzling her head against my lap. She was shaking a little and her arms looked ragged, like she had been picking at her feathers. I stroked her as soothingly as I could.

            “It’ll be okay, Blue,” I lied, “Maggie is still asleep but she should wake up soon. She’ll come back here and give you lots of love.”

            I felt myself choke up as I said that. I looked around at the flock and wondered if they knew I was lying and that the human they saw like a mother or pack leader would never come back to them. What they couldn’t know was that when I would eventually lose Maggie, I would lose them as well and they their identities. It isn’t too commonly known, but a wix’s spells are reversed upon their death. All of Maggie’s work on Blue and the whole flock would be lost, leaving them scared, confused ravens once more.

            But maybe this was for the best. They were going to lose both of us, after all. Better to go back to a normal life as a bird. Still, the thought of our beloved raptors leaving the world, at least as we knew them, and Maggie’s greatest legacy erasing itself brought tears that would not end. As I sobbed, I thought more and realized the horror of the room I was in. If, during this visit or any others, I noticed that the flock suddenly reverted back into birds, it would mean that Maggie was dead and I had been away when it happened. And if, by some miracle, Maggie did survive, how could I look at Blue or the others again knowing that they were a living beacon of Maggie’s well-being?

            We cuddled a bit longer, Penny showed me a new trick with one of her enrichment toys, and then I got them their supper. Whatever fear they faced, dinner took precedence. I wished I could do that. Before leaving, I made sure to give each a good long scrtichle and a hug. Was this the last time I would see them too? I hobbled back to the hospital wing, quick as I could to return to Maggie and ready to continue my day of fear and misery.

            The days turned into a blur. Despite my best efforts and the ravages of sleep deprivation, I somehow became healthier, physically speaking anyway. My walking to the room improved day by day, which was remarkable. The clear sadness on the flock’s faces, meanwhile, was unbearable. My mental state could only keep deteriorating as well. Every day Maggie remained unconscious, I felt myself closer and closer to the edge. One day, I forgot which, McGonagall dropped in to check on us. She told us things from the battle we didn’t know, including the cleanup efforts for the grounds, which had been strewn with rubble and giant parts.

            “When they were cleaning up,” I asked, trying not to sound suspicious, “what became of the sword? I wouldn’t want it to be lost or in the wrong hands.”

            I was so obvious. Why would I care about some sword while the person I loved was dying?

            “I don’t know exactly,” she answered, clearly seeing right through me. “I imagine it ended up somewhere secure, like Dumbledore’s office, but I wouldn’t know for sure. Now, you tell Maggie when she wakes up that at the start of the new term she has detention with me for a month. I’m quite cross with her after that stunt she pulled.”

            McGonagall was far too optimistic. But maybe, just maybe, she could be onto something. She would never be so cruel as to say she was angry with a dying person, much less to the love of said dying person’s life. But I couldn’t believe it. Besides, if McGonagall were qualified enough for an opinion, she would be working at St. Mungo’s, not teaching transfiguration. I nodded politely to her but my whole body shook with fear. That night, my dream ended with me falling into a room of boggarts. I expected a horde of Snapes, but one by one the creatures transformed into a sea of dead Maggies. Cut, crushed, impaled, killed with magic, even muggle deaths like cancer and gunfire, everything was represented. This time _I_ woke screaming.

            The next days ran together as well. Harry, Hermione, and I had healed enough that we could leave our beds for longer, even all day if we wished. So of course we spent most of the time sitting around Maggie’s bed, occasionally urging her to wake up and then worrying among ourselves, but mostly sitting in solemn silence. Now we all felt helpless, and Madam Pomfrey seemed completely useless. Maggie was dying and all we could do was be witnesses when it happened. I, meanwhile, would have the added responsibility of seeming stable enough to be left alone with something, anything, deadly enough to kill me.

           

            Then came the morning of the 23rd, Christmas Eve Eve, as some people called it. I had grown somewhat numb to the dreams and my eyes had cried themselves nearly dry by this point, but that morning the waterworks started anew. We were so close to our anniversary now. I hadn’t expected Maggie to live to see it and I still didn’t, but even if she did manage to survive that long, it would be only as an unconscious shell of her former self. Stupid, worthless Neville! What kind of significant other were you to not even keep her alive until your one-year anniversary? The worst, that’s what kind. Throughout the day, Harry and Hermione tried their best to engage me in conversation. I sat in solemn silence instead.

            That evening, Pomfrey insisted that we get out of the hospital wing and go to dinner. I fought tooth and nail, but ultimately Harry and Hermione agreed, albeit begrudgingly. I had no recollection of how that dinner went. We kept to ourselves at the far end of the table, back where Umbridge stuck the muggleborns, and tried our best to ignore the stares and tittering of the rest of the students. I shoveled my food in as fast as I could, desperate to return as fast as possible. Harry and Hermione followed suit, but they just couldn’t match my desperate pace. Eventually, though, we were all finished and could return. I wanted to run, but my limping leg was nowhere near ready for that. And, once I thought about it, neither was my heart. I wanted to be there when Maggie woke up. I expected to be there when Maggie died. But in leaving the hospital wing for even a minute I risked missing either. At least with the flock, my heart would break but I’d know. Here, I was completely in the dark. How could I go back there and see her corpse, to not get one last moment with her, feeling her warm skin and watching her breathe. Had I robbed myself of that by eating some tasteless roast beef?

            My hand hovered over the doorknob to the hospital wing. I had such a bad feeling in my gut. I had missed something crucial, I just knew it. I only hoped Pomfrey left her body there long enough for me to say goodbye at least. Harry and Hermione hugged me from both sides, then stroked my arm and urged me to open it.

            Pomfrey stood by Maggie’s bed. She was…talking? And I heard a second voice. Some official accepting the report of death? No, this voice was familiar. Different from normal, but familiar. It was Maggie’s voice. Don’t get your hopes up, Neville, she could very easily have become a new Hogwarts ghost, chaining herself needlessly to this world just to be with you, only to find that a life without holding each other was no life at all.

            Pomfrey moved to do a different test.

            I could see Maggie.

            She was alive.

            _She was awake._

            “MAGGIE,” I cried, my eyes overflowing with happy tears.

            I ran as best I could, damn my useless leg. I climbed up into the bed, an easy feat as I had been sharing it with Maggie since I was physically able to, and took her into my arms. She was alive. She was alive. She was alive. Tears streamed down my face as I held her. I didn’t notice Harry or Hermione following me in. I didn’t notice Pomfrey walking away. My whole world was Maggie and I never ever ever wanted to be apart from that world again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The main author of Changes Everything is my girlfriend and since I started reading it I've written nearly 20 stories like this to supplement the main one. Mostly for her amusement but I've decided to start posting most of them. This is the most recent but I'm going out of order because this is relevant to upcoming chapters. I'll only be posting ones that she considers canon.


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